


Rosé

by wolftraptobaltimore (ogidni)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogidni/pseuds/wolftraptobaltimore
Summary: Will returns late one night from a case in Annapolis. Exhaustion, a rising fever, and driving proximity find him on the doorstep of Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal insists that Will should stay the night, and Will obliges. As Will rests, the doctor considers his fever.





	1. un

**Author's Note:**

> Just two good friends writing about two good friends. All for the love of Hannigram.
> 
> This is a short, three-part fic. I sympathize with anyone who's just here for the sex. If that's you, skip on over to chapters 2 and 3. It's a very short walk.
> 
> Bon appétit!

It was the right kind of evening for Yeats, with mid-winter dark and thick along the coast, and a storm blowing in from the cold sea. Hannibal had long since concluded dinner, long since dispensed with the dishes and cleared the table, long since settled in the study to read until he was ready to sleep.

 

But before the bavarian clock in the foyer could announce in heavy tones the eleventh hour’s passing, there was another sound — resonant — Hannibal knew it was Will before he had properly comprehended what it was.

 

A knock.

 

He marked his place, laid his book on the side table, and strode with purpose toward the foyer, securing some balance between concern and curiosity along the way. It had begun to rain.

 

“Will,” he said, standing aside in invitation, “to what do I owe the visit?”

 

A warm, familiar thrill rose up in Hannibal’s chest, a lifting, swelling feeling of certain things becoming unknown. His night, which minutes ago had been a settled question, was now a universe of possibility.

 

Will stood still in the doorway at first. A familiar frown creased his brow, but the raindrops on his glasses hid his gaze from proper view.

 

“I’ve missed some appointments and was wondering if you had the time,” Will stated in lieu of a proper greeting.

 

He had just finished work on a case not far from here. Bodies that washed up along the shores of the Severn River with the recent storm.

 

Jack had been called as a special favor to the administration at Annapolis and took each subsequent murder as a personal affront to his efficacy. The long days of inspecting crime scenes with Jack endlessly probing him from over his shoulder turned into even longer nights of Jack yelling into his ear over the phone as Will perched on the edge of his bed and ate whatever convenience store sandwich he was able to find from the pillaged shelves of the AM/PM next to his hotel. This made the killer’s capture all the more important to Will and his own peace of mind.

 

A break came when Will supposed he might as well spend his sleepless nights in the rain monitoring the docks. This appeased Jack, and the phone stopped ringing. He was in the right place at the right time when he saw the old dock master approach a young man which led to an argument and a discharged weapon. Will raised his own gun and hit the killer in the leg before any more could come of it. For all the hell the case had caused him over the past two weeks, it closed up cleanly yet inelegantly.

 

It gave him an itch exacerbated by the fever he must have developed from nights spent on a rain soaked bench.

 

“I think I may be coming down with something. Sorry.” The apology was perfunctory since he wouldn’t have come to Hannibal’s house in the first place if he truly felt sorry. He shuffled his feet on the doormat before shouldering his way into the doctor’s home.

 

Hannibal closed and locked the door behind him all in one motion with a definitive settling sound. The hiss of the rain was hushed, and the silence of the house settled over them. He stepped forward to slide his hands up Will’s arms and beneath his collar, helping him out of his coat.

 

“You do seem somewhat worse for the wear,” he supplied, cognizant of the rain draining from Will’s coat and pooling on the travertine tile of his foyer closet. The weight of it alone suggested it couldn’t all have accumulated on a brisk dash from car to doorstep. “You’ve been nearby on business?” he asked idly, lightly, turning to inspect the rest of Will’s clothing.

 

It occurred to him to offer Will dry clothes. Hannibal had a few pieces that would do, he thought, though they might hang a little; but before he could make the offer he had to understand the circumstances. He fixed Will with a friendly smile, seeking out his eyes through his fogged glasses, then brought two fingertips up to rest on his neck, just below the corner of his jaw. His eyes flicked down to the face of his watch, tracking the second hand as it counted Will’s pulse; after he had a number in mind he laid his palm over the other’s forehead, drawing away with a concerned quirk of his mouth.

 

“I do think you might be unwell. You should change, I think, into dry clothes.”

 

When Will laughed, it was a dry, sardonic sound. It echoed abruptly through the quiet hall through clenched teeth, but with no sign of congestion.

 

“Maryland is a hotbed of crime. If you were renting, I might keep a summer home here.” Will looked down at his sagging apparel and added, “Or at least a change of clothes or two. For better or worse, I can count more than one time I’ve had the need in your presence.”

 

His history with Hannibal was short, but not uneventful. There were times when the doctor joined him at crime scenes and others where he had stained his shirt at dinner; not blessed with the immaculate manners of the doctor himself.

 

Will cleared his glasses of the water that rendered them temporarily useless and had his hand on the dark mahogany newel post at the bottom of Hannibal’s staircase before he turned and clarified, “I assume that means you have something available for my use.”

 

“Of course,” Hannibal agreed, guiding Will up the staircase with a hand on the small of his back. He could feel the strange unsteadiness of his gait, jerkier than Will’s typically nervous step.

 

In the closet inside the second guest bathroom were a few sets of linen house clothes, the sort of thing Hannibal typically lent to unexpected overnight guests, but a possessive impulse steered him away from them and toward his own bedroom.

 

“Just a moment,” he said, venturing into his closet as Will seemed to sway in the doorframe.

 

His pajama pants would drape loosely over Will’s hips, he knew, and his undershirt wouldn’t cling to his shoulders. He laid a smoking jacket — a fond, velvet, relic of a thing — over his forearm, and reemerged.

 

“Here you are.” He provided Will with his clothes, and shepherded him into his bathroom, closing the door with a gracious nod, and another raking glance over his body.

 

Will took the offered clothes with only a slight raise of his eyebrow to signal his objections. He was too exhausted to protest more and worried that he might not even be steady enough on his feet to change.

 

However, when the latch clicked into place and he was alone in Hannibal’s soothingly lit master bathroom, he awkwardly shed the rest of his clothing and was surprised by the lightness he felt without their watery weight. Everything was just one size too large, and he resisted the urge to cuff the pants. This left material to drape over his naked feet and provide some warmth for them as well. He tied the belt of the smoking jacket strategically low around his hips to keep the pants in place, and exited the bathroom without a look back at the pile of clothes he left in his wake.

 

“I take it from the mode of attire that you don’t intend on sending me home tonight.” Will rubbed his hands over his cheeks and noted that he probably looked more pathetic for the extra smattering of stubble he hadn’t attended to for the past couple days. “Thank you, Doctor. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” Finally, Will had the wherewithal to express a small amount of remorse for calling so late and unexpectedly.

 

“No, not at all. It’s always a pleasure, Will.”

 

Hannibal led Will back toward the study, only remarking over his shoulder with a subtle grin: “Though, most of my patients do honor my cancellation policy…”

 

But Will wasn’t a patient, not really, and the knowledge hung between them unspoken as Hannibal invited his guest to sit. A fire burned low in the hearth, glimmering in the angles of the crystal carafe of scotch waiting alongside Hannibal’s half-finished tumbler.

 

“Now then,” Hannibal announced, settling into his chair adjacent from Will’s. With nightfall, the room seemed closer, its shadows longer, its corners darker. “How have you been doing, Will? Sleeping, dreaming?” He absently thumbed through the notebook he kept for their sessions, though he hadn’t forgotten a jot of what he had written during their last appointment. “Did you come to discuss anything in particular?”

 

Will looked deeply into the doctor’s eyes, finding something relaxing in their sharp color, but quickly shifted his gaze to the amber colored liquor in the glass by his hand.

 

“No, nothing in particular, but that shouldn’t be a surprise. I never have anything particular in mind, and yet something always comes up.” Will scratched at his temple as more of a gesture and less about thwarting an itch.

 

When Hannibal refused to supplement the silence, Will sighed and fidgeted with the hem of a sleeve before crossing his arms then tucking them into the fold of his chest. Resigning to the fact that Hannibal was waiting for Will to speak first, Will raised his brow and looked to the ceiling as he detailed the aspects of his life that the doctor inquired about earlier.

 

“Let’s see. I’ve been doing – um – satisfactorily. Both by my account and others’. Nothing noteworthy, just skating by. Sleeping has never been a strength, but I suppose it’s been worse than usual lately. Some people had a lot riding on my last case and even though I would have rather not taken it, it was out of my hands really. As for dreams…” he trailed off at this and laughed, “..as for dreams, I hardly get the chance to become invested in them.”

 

All of this was stated with an air of finality while his eyes returned to Hannibal’s and blinked owlishly behind the lenses of his glasses.

 

There was this little pattern of behaviors Hannibal had long ago detected in Will and had come to expect and finally crave: Will would, when probed, deliver a sudden onrush of honesty which to the untrained eye might appear as a kind of surrender, though it was really an attack; with his offense mounted, he would then draw back in apparent fear, searching his interlocutor for some sign of reproach. Often, Hannibal expected, he was reproached, either with an expression of discomfort or outright reprimand.

 

But Hannibal never reprimanded him. He looked on with attentive warmth, noting only the word satisfactorily, as if there were any chance of him forgetting it in the interim.

 

“I must say, your account doesn’t seem to amount to satisfaction,” he at last supplied, returning Will’s searching gaze with a steady transfixion. He smiled lightly, lifting his brows. “Perhaps your lack of sleep and the several days you’ve spent in the rain are proximate causes of your fever.”

 

They must have had him outdoors, Hannibal mused, stationed at the bay, waiting for someone. His coat had smelled like sea water. The thought of them wasting a talent like Will’s on mundane beat work left a sour taste in his mouth which he washed away with a swallow of scotch.

 

“As your clinician, I can’t very well offer you a glass,” he announced, rising to set his notebook aside and overturn one of the empty tumblers resting atop a brass bar cart. “But as your host, I must.” He poured an ounce or so, assuming Will wouldn’t turn it down, always glad to indulge his worst impulses. He handed the glass to Will, shadow falling over the other’s body.

 

Will took the glass without hesitation. “I suppose that since this isn’t exactly an on-the-record kind of visit, even you with your unfailing sense of professionalism can make an exception.”

 

He raised the glass in a mock toast, muttered “ _salut_ ” under his breath and had the decency to sip his scotch rather than drain it all in one mouthful. The last time he had and he hadn’t missed the dark expression that fell over Hannibal’s face when he finished. No doubt offended by Will’s failure to savor something more than a touch finer than the usual swill Will kept in his own cupboard in Wolf Trap.

 

“Anyway,” Will gestured dismissively with his drink still in hand, “satisfactory is more of an objective statement. Satisfaction of one thing doesn’t mean that something else isn’t being suboptimized.”

 

Rather than returning to his seat, Hannibal leaned against his desk as he often did during their sessions. Will had been soft-spoken to begin with and prone to muttering.

 

Mostly he still was. But it was no longer why Hannibal lingered near him.

 

“What are you still dissatisfied with, Will?” he asked then, fingers tracing along the underside of his desk top. A hiss of sparks announced the shifting of logs in the hearth, and the blaze of light glowed in the halo of Will’s dark curls drying in disarray. How comfortable he seemed to have become, Hannibal observed with muted delight, in his clothes. They seemed to suit him somehow, at least here, in this moment.

 

Reflecting on the doctor’s question, Will took another sip of his drink. This time he used the motion as a natural pause while he gathered his thoughts.

 

“This is just one of the many, many reasons I didn’t want to return to the field. All the…” he spat out the next word to emphasize his displeasure, “politicking is really below the bureau, I think. But try telling that to Jack. It’s his bread and butter.” Will set his glass on a side table and retied the velvet belt at his waist. “Social niceties will always be beyond my grasp.”

 

He swirled the remaining scotch around the bottom of his glass and pursed his lips as he watched the liquid chase its own tail.

 

Will was getting low, Hannibal saw. Even when he drank slowly, per his host’s preference, he drank faster than he would’ve had he been brought up with money. What used to grate now charmed. Hannibal strode to the bar cart and returned with the carafe, pouring Will another half-ounce.

 

“It’s a pity to waste a fine thing,” he mused, sliding his fingers into Will’s hair in a fond gesture that, had it been only that, would have swiftly ended. Instead Hannibal stood by, one hand in his pocket, the other absently carding through Will’s curls.

 

“They must’ve left you out on the bay for days, and for such a straightforward case. It defies reason, really,” he watched the fire as it began to dissolve into embers, “and taste.”

 

“Be careful whose reason and taste you call into question, Doctor. Thank you.” Presented with another full glass, Will took the tumbler in hand again. “If I have anybody to blame for my illness, it would have to be myself. I went out to observe of my own volition. I felt more useful there than not sleeping in my hotel room – though only marginally so.”

 

Although he had allowed Hannibal’s hand in his hair without protest at first, it suddenly seemed bothersome to him and he turned to lean against the other armrest of the chair he sat in. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his own hair to muss it up properly again.

 

Hannibal didn’t chase him, though he thought of it. Any flight had that effect on him; his first, hot impulse was always to pursue. But he slid his hands into his pockets and approached the fire instead, laying a hand on the mantle to lean as he gazed into the glowing embers.

 

To bridge the awkward series of movements, Will motioned at the large clock opposite Hannibal’s desk. “Eleven thirty-seven. Quite late, quite late. I’m sure I interrupted something, Doctor, so please don’t let me keep you from it any longer.”

 

“You didn’t interrupt anything important,” he returned, “I was reading. Nothing I haven’t read before, of course.”

 

He glanced over his shoulder, appraising him with a fond look, slowly darkening.

 

“It is late, Will. You’re not well. Would you like me to show you to bed?”

 

At Hannibal’s suggestion to retire, Will considered the more than half-full glass in his hands and wondered whether it would be more impolite to leave it unfinished, or to chug it thoughtlessly like a college sophomore at a kegger.

 

He settled for somewhere in the middle and left about a centimeter in the bottom of his glass before standing up to follow Hannibal into the darkened corridors of a house Will had never had the chance to fully explore. It occurred to him that a man like Hannibal should have many secrets, but doubted he would become privy to any new ones tonight.

 

Will had stayed the night at Hannibal’s twice or more before. At least once after obliging Hannibal and his own curiosity by attending a late night unveiling of an exhibit on Asiatic insects at the Natural History Museum. The second and others had resulted from excessive indulgence in Hannibal’s extensive collection of wines and spirits. Will hadn’t the patience of a collector and Hannibal always assured him that liquor was better enjoyed with in good company.

 

He brushed the wrinkles out of his borrowed clothes and quickly caught up to his host.

 

“I do appreciate you coming, Will,” Hannibal seemed to sigh, as though their night had been long and engaged and cut short only by exhaustion.

 

The guest room he reserved for Will’s use was nearest his own; other, lesser guests received accommodations in increasingly distant quarters. But from Will’s doorway, Hannibal’s own was visible just across the hall.

 

He went inside ahead of his guest to turn down the bedcovers and light the bedside lamp.

 

“Everything should be in order,” he assured him, meeting him a breath or so from where he stood. “If you feel worse in the night, you shouldn’t hesitate to let me know, Will. I am a doctor, you know.” He flashed a playful sort of grin and lifted his palm again to fit against Will’s forehead, smoothing back half-damp curls.

 

It was a knee-jerk reaction when Will started away from Hannibal’s hand. He laughed half to himself and half out loud as he joked, “Cold hands…” His heartbeat settled a bit, and he leaned into Hannibal’s palm finding more comfort in it than he probably should. Usually illness meant bunkering down in his cabin with a doomsday prepper’s supply of canned goods and aspirin. Dogs, of course, made lacking sick nurses.

 

Once Hannibal pulled his hand away, having drawn the same conclusions as before, Will sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Hannibal to retreat.

 

“I feel much better knowing your proximity.” Will nodded and gave Hannibal a tight smile. “Goodnight, Hannibal.”

 

Hannibal closed Will’s door behind himself and listened to him shed the smoking jacket, still and quiet, barely breathing, wondering if he would shed more.

 

At the edge of his own bed, he stopped himself. It wouldn’t be possible to sleep just yet. He was still tingling with the liberties he had taken so far, and the ones he imagined he could take before definitively damaging his rapport with Will.

 

Maybe there was no end to it, he thought. Maybe Will was ready. Always it had been a question of ripeness, from the first time he watched his slouching posture and decided he would know the feel of it one day, one way or another, inside or out, willing or…

 

Now he had decided otherwise, on that one specific count. It would be too ugly, it would damage him too much, perhaps even the interior world that had initially drawn him in. It would be a waste, and he couldn’t countenance waste.


	2. deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was tons of fun to write and we're thankful for all the subscriptions and bookmarks! Chapter 2 gets a little saucier and it will continue on into Chapter 3.
> 
> Rosé has been completed, so don't expect updates after Chapter 3, but we're working on a longer fic for you all.

Before Hannibal ventured back up he rinsed their tumblers, ran his tongue over the cool rim where Will’s lips had been, and sought out the flavor of his breath. It was more intoxicating than the scotch itself, and he credited it with his rash judgment in what followed.

 

He took in the feel of the banister, the lacquer of it, the grooves and chill. At the top of the stairs he paused, considered the time — an hour had passed — and briefly stepped into his room to discard his jacket and tie before returning to Will’s door, just as he had left it.

 

Inside the air was still. The rain went on outside, coursing along the windowpanes. His smoking jacket and lent shirt were on the floor, so he folded them over the bench at the foot of the bed before approaching Will where he laid, sliding a hand over his shoulder.

 

In his borrowed bed, Will laid uncharacteristically calm. Perhaps it was some combination of his weeks’ cultivated exhaustion and the more than generous nightcap he had consumed in Hannibal’s study.

 

When Hannibal slid his hand over Will’s body it was hot to the touch. The skin was slightly dampened with a fevered sweat and a mixture of Will’s and Hannibal’s scents radiated from his neck.

 

Will’s serenity up until that point stood in stark contrast to the abrupt shifting under covers that left him facing Hannibal and letting out a single long, deep moan. The moan had his jaw slightly ajar and he panted a few times to catch his breath through whatever dream he was seeing behind restless, fluttering lids.

 

The sound unfolded in Hannibal’s mind like the blossoming of a flower, the length of it opening to a delicate center, which Hannibal recognized as possibility. There Will was, tender and barely clothed, his skin hot and damp.

 

“Will,” he said, softly. “Will.”

 

He brushed his hair back from his forehead, and the fever had to have spiked; his palm was slick with sweat, and Will’s pulse was racing.

 

“Will,” he leaned nearer then, one knee depressing the edge of the mattress. “Your fever seems to be — worsening…”

 

If Hannibal had to explain himself, he thought, he would say he had heard Will moaning. At present he had leaned close enough to breathe his breath, and impulsively he pressed his lips to Will’s, tongue brushing along the tip of the other’s.

 

All at once, Will awoke with a weight pushing him down and a gentle pressure in his mouth. It wasn’t altogether unfamiliar as Will had shared his bed with women before and woken up to an interested partner, but even he had to confess it had been a while since he had spent the night with anyone else. His brain reminded him of that much and very little else.

 

He had a hard time picking through his dreams and reality – having just woken up from a sexual one – but his sweat made him cold and he was no longer in the middle of intercourse. Instead, he seemed to be just on the brink of beginning it.

 

His hands came up from his sides and closed around forearms – the stiff sleeves of a dress shirt. In that moment Will realized it would be prudent to open his eyes, and when he did the angled face of Hannibal shimmered in and out of focus in the darkness of the room. Will gasped and immediately shoved a hand down the front of his pants, as if the strange act might excuse the rudeness of having an erection in a friend’s sleep clothes.

 

Will’s gasp opened his mouth and Hannibal followed the invitation immediately, sliding the length of his tongue along his. The inside of his mouth was searing hot; his breath was burning, and it urged him on, as though Will had begged. The phrase  _ in heat _ passed through the doctor’s mind. Hannibal felt Will shift, and the motion drew his eye like a predator’s. He eased the blankets back without parting from Will’s mouth, sure the evaporation of his sweat would soon leave him in chills, unless he was induced to further warmth.

 

He moved more fully over Will, supporting his weight with one hand while the other wrapped around Will’s, where it was circled underneath his pants. He squeezed his  fist through the fabric, kissing him as deeply as Will would allow.

 

The added pressure to Will’s dick threatened to short circuit any thoughts that were not directly related to ejaculating, but his utter confusion about the situation kept  him surprisingly grounded.

 

Will jerked his hips upwards and sat more solidly against the heavy oak headboard of the guestroom bed, effectively breaking the surprise kiss he had found himself locked in. His fingers clumsily skittered across the top of the bedside table and he shoved his found glasses on his face as though they provided an extra layer of protection.

 

“Ha – Ha – Hannibal.” It took Will three tries to get the doctor’s name out from behind his lips. “I – um – it’s um…very rude to – I just..” Will wasn’t sure if he was chastising himself or Hannibal, but the whole predicament seemed very rude or untoward at the least. He licked his lips and then raised a shaking hand to them – perturbed when he noticed it was the hand he had just been holding his penis in.

 

“You were moaning, Will,” Hannibal informed him. Now that Will’s hand had slipped out from under his pants, only Hannibal’s was left, fitting tightly around the shaft of his dick through the fabric. “I came to check on you, and you were…” He gave him a firm stroke, cataloging information at a breakneck pace: circumcised, longer than average, not yet leaking.

 

“It’s alright,” Hannibal assured Will, his voice deep and heated, soothing. “It isn’t anything to be ashamed of.” He moved his hand from Will’s penis to his hip, and sat back to cup his cheek with the other. “I think it’s best to resume.”

 

“You think it’s – well, I think it’s safe to say – oh god!” Will’s hips followed Hannibal’s hand as it pulled away. After being handled so resolutely at first, he felt somewhat cheated when Hannibal’s hand moved away.

 

Will’s eyelids felt sticky with sleep and sweat, and it made his eyes themselves feel peeled wide open. He blinked and found no remedy.

 

“If you – I mean this doesn’t fit your general demeanor, Doc…” Will trailed off. Considering the circumstances, it was probably best to separate the man from his title. “Hannibal. I had no idea you would be interested in this kind of...arrangement.”

 

“Typically, no. In your case, though, I could make an exception.”

 

Hannibal had it in the back of his mind to probe what sort of arrangement Will thought this was, exactly. When Hannibal pursued partners he did so with total abandon; this wasn’t an arrangement, it was a complete conquest. There would be no part of Will left to anyone or anything else when he was done, nothing befitting of the subtleties implied by an arrangement. There would never be anything so partial as that between them.

 

“You’ll need something later, for the fever,” he murmured, leaning in again, with measured movements, to capture Will’s mouth. “Lie back down.”

 

Every muscle in Will’s body strained to resist the renewed weight of Hannibal’s hands on his shoulders. There was a small, primitive swelling of pride that prevented him  from automatically surrendering to another man’s guidance. It was the same hesitance he had experienced the one other time he had gone to bed with a man.

 

Ultimately it hadn’t resulted in full penetration – just the frustrated rutting of two curious and only halfway committed academy trainees.

 

This time, Will felt the spit click in his dry throat as Hannibal’s cheek nudged lovingly against his own. He felt a breath between them, but didn’t know whom it had originally belonged to. He felt the impulse thread stretched out between them taunting  _ “why not” _ at the end of his brain stem.

 

Will tilted his head and felt Hannibal’s lips as just two points of contact while he spoke plainly, “I wonder,” Will took strength from what he supposed might be Hannibal’s most unguarded expression as they hung on this precipice of intimacy and change. “I haven’t ever consciously thought of this. So I wonder, how thoroughly have you?”

 

Hannibal had long since stopped thinking of Will as a man per se; he knew he was male, of course, and once upon a time had been fascinated by his almost complete disregard for the typical constraints thereof, with all his outward emotion and vulnerability. Then he had come to see those habits for what they were, an external manifestation of his feral inner formlessness, his nearness to himself, unshaped by convention.

 

Will had seen ghosts mask the faces of living men for months, and still lived closer to the truth than anyone else Hannibal had ever known.

 

But it seemed in that moment convention had caught up with them. Hannibal considered Will’s question, his lips moving along his cheek, the corner of his jaw, his neck.

 

“Very thoroughly,” he replied truthfully, “for some time. I have told you before that you are very special to me.” In so many words, anyway. And if he hadn’t said it — he wasn’t entirely sure he had ever said it like that — he had shown it in every gesture they had shared up to that point.

 

His fingertips followed the line of Will’s flank, unsteady with faltering breath, back to the angle of his hip, and then laterally, to wrap around him again. “Conscious thoughts can be very misleading…”

 

Whether Will was physically too tired to fight it anymore or too starved for a kind of acceptance he had never experienced before, his body began to relax. It shuddered and hummed to life under Hannibal’s hands.

 

He wanted to talk, but couldn’t find anything to say. That didn’t stop the unsuccessful attempts at words from voicing themselves as little groans when Hannibal moved a certain way. Will sounded half-annoyed, but that had more to do with his unfamiliarity with the current turn in their relationship than any true displeasure.

 

Aware of his own passivity thus far, Will brought both hands up to Hannibal’s face. He had to feel the sharp bone of the doctor’s cheek with his own fingers – the similarly severe peak of his lip.  Will's fingers trembled on his face. Hannibal let his eyes drift closed, leaning into the touch. When a fingertip ghosted over his lip, he caught it with his mouth and drew it in, letting Will feel the press of his tongue, the drag of his cheeks. 

 

Will’s fingers felt blocky and ill-mannered. He ran the fingers of his opposing hand through Hannibal’s hair to muss it up, wondering if Hannibal would smooth it back into place or allow it to remain as Will left it.

 

Hannibal released Will only to begin undressing himself, working hastily but deftly at the buttons of his dress shirt. He shrugged it off a moment later, making a half-hearted attempt at folding it before laying it over the same bench his smoking jacket rested on. When he returned to Will, he had unbuckled his belt, wondering if the other had the same Pavlovian response to the sound that some did. He wanted to know if Will had ever come to know by heart the sound of men undressing, or if his father had beaten him with a belt enough to teach him fear.

 

For now he tabled the thoughts and brought one of Will's hands up to the button closure of his slacks, one knee nestled between his thighs. "Go on," he murmured, nuzzling him again; he imagined his scent clinging to Will there, where their skin had touched. 

 

It was one thing to touch Hannibal’s face – and even feel the inside of his mouth. It was something else entirely to have his hands at the man’s groin on the verge of opening his pants. In the forefront of his mind, he reasoned, that it was just one action in a string of other actions. However, Will had never had the occasion to open another adult male’s pants non-sexually, and with this thought fueling his renewing sense of arousal he quickly picked the button closure open.

 

He didn’t even need Hannibal’s direction to pull the zipper down and start to pull the loosened tops of the pants downwards.

 

Once that was accomplished, though, Will lost a bit of his nerve and stared awkwardly at the half-erection still hidden by Hannibal’s underwear. It seemed important in that moment for Will to say, “I hope I’m not contagious. Or – or at least that you don’t become ill from this.”

 

If Will had been any less anxious, any less hesitant, it would’ve been that much less delicious. Hannibal loved virgins for none of the reasons commonly advanced; he didn’t find them especially pure or fear the expertise of more experienced partners. But teaching appealed to him, and guiding, and influencing. He had done as much for Will already without ever touching him. This would only complete the design.

 

“I am very resilient,” he assured Will with a low laugh, rich and dark. He slid a hand behind his head, threading through curls to tip him back and up and  _ open _ , then capturing his lips again.

 

And while he teased his tongue along Will’s, he gathered the other’s hand in his and drew it down, guiding his fingertips along his chest and stomach, then beneath the fabric of his slacks, where his thick cock was already heavy and hardening.

 

“Have you ever been with a man before, Will?”

 

Will considered the taste that Hannibal left in his mouth – no doubt he had returned to the study after seeing Will off to bed because Will could taste the scotch from the back of Hannibal’s tongue.

 

He palmed the erection in his hand and noted with no real surprise that Hannibal was well-endowed. The flesh was weighty and, though the general feel was the same as his own, the angle had him fumbling his grasp until everything settled into place. In order to answer Hannibal’s question, Will needed to observe all of these things and compare them to what little experience he had so he wouldn’t embarrass himself either way. He didn’t want to overstate his experience nor understate it, always afraid to look the part of a fool displayed to Hannibal’s discerning eye.

 

Once his private examinations were completed, he cleared his throat and stated very matter-of-factly, “I’ve masturbated with another man before – kissed. To that extent, it’s no different than being with a woman. You know, strictly speaking. There are…differences,” he looked down Hannibal’s hard body and continued, “Before you ask about my experience…rectally…only my general practitioner has seen fit to examine my prostate. I always thought it might make my interactions with her more strained than they already are if I began seeking sexual pleasure from the practice.”

 

Hannibal watched the word form in Will’s mouth.

 

Prostate. Will’s jaw was tight, he bared his teeth with the short a, and the t clicked against his teeth. He wasn’t making eye contact.

 

“I assure you my touch is less than medicinal,” Hannibal teased, letting his hand slide from the back of Will’s head with a gentle brush over his lips. He sat back and shifted out of his slacks and boxers, folding them over the bench to join the growing stack of clothes, then drew back the blankets to join Will underneath the blankets.

 

The sheets were damp from his sweat. Under other conditions he would’ve asked a prospective lover whether to leave the bedside lamp on or off; in Will’s case he didn’t broach the subject lest he give him another decision to agonize over. Instead he simply withdrew a jar — a small, clay thing shaped like a tiny grecian urn — from the drawer of the nightstand, leaving it on the surface. He left the light on.

 

Hannibal moved between Will’s thighs, easing his own pants down off Will’s narrow hips with a little effort, thanks to the drag of his sweat-glazed skin. When he had Will naked before him he paused, leaning down to rest his hands just above his knees, the long pale whole of him spread out, breath shuddering in his chest. He spent a long moment drinking in the sight of him.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as fond of anyone as I am of you, Will,” he said at last, letting the warm sigh he breathed flow over the tip of Will’s penis, now brushing against his lips. Hannibal slid his tongue along the underside before enveloping the head with an appreciative hum.

 

“Fuck!” It was a terrible return on the doctor’s kind sentiment, but Will was never good at censoring himself, and this moment hadn’t afforded him any newfound manners.

 

He at least had the courtesy to push his hips harder into the bed rather than up into Hannibal’s mouth as he wished. His hands hovered somewhere in the space above the man’s broad shoulders, but when he couldn’t decide where to put them on Hannibal’s body, he put them back on the bed to clutch at the bedsheets beneath him.

 

As Hannibal continued to attend to Will’s arousal with his mouth, Will’s general sexual frustration caught up with him and reminded him that stamina had to be maintained. He wouldn’t come so easily, but he found himself unusually affected by Hannibal’s ministrations. Will’s feet slid up the bed under the covers and positioned themselves closer to Hannibal’s sides as if the relaxation of the tension in his muscles would relieve other internal tensions.

 

It didn’t, and Will’s breaths came in short pants as his hips made minute undulations against Hannibal’s pointed chin. 

 

Hannibal wasn’t certain when Will drew his heels up if it was a matter of instinct or preference or suggestion, but it didn’t matter either. Will had made it easier to reach him where he wanted to reach him, and though it wasn’t time just yet, Hannibal’s core stirred at the thought.

 

He brought his arms up to rest over Will’s lower belly, one hand languidly encircling the younger man’s dick, moving in time with his lips, and the other tracing nonsense patterns on Will’s skin. His weight, he knew, would pin him. It would keep Will from surprising him with anything other than noise, and he savored every noise.

 

After all, it was rare for partners to give as much, and not because Hannibal was a subpar lover. It was rather that Hannibal’s soft-spokenness struck most as an extension of his refinement, and in his presence they tried to mirror it as one would fine manners. But Will disregarded all those things and more, and Hannibal could not have thanked him enough for it. He swallowed Will’s cock to the base all at once without warning, tightened his throat around it in a few warm gulps, then pulled back, just listening.

 

A warm breath rushed over Will’s wet tip, and Hannibal peered up at him, eyes dark and glittering.

 

“Would that I could make you come every day,” Hannibal sighed, watching those lips, now a more radiant shade of scarlet, as he leaned in to swallow him again.

 

“Nnnnn-ah…wish that I could come like this every day. I mean it probably wouldn’t be bad – maybe it would – it would be a lot.” Will shuddered as he felt Hannibal swallow around him. The man’s mouth felt as smooth on the inside as his voice sounded in Will’s ears. It was slick and hot and gave him all the same feelings, just more intensely.

 

He babbled nonsensically out loud to focus on the sound of his own abrasively nasal tone. It helped center him so that he could enjoy Hannibal’s mouth without immediately coming undone. Previous lovers, women, had tended to him orally before, but they were always more concerned with the way that they looked performing the act rather than caring about giving him the most pleasure. Of course, sex had a visual component to it, but Will knew now that he much preferred the physical sensation, aesthetics be damned.

 

Will’s fever sweat had dried in this time, but he could still feel dampness on the back of his neck. It was a new sweat that was all Hannibal’s own creation. A byproduct of the warm flush of Will’s cheeks and behind his ears as Hannibal’s lips slid skillfully over Will’s cock. A surface manifestation of the animal quickness of Will’s heartbeats.

 

He tasted iron as he bit into the side of his cheek and brought a shaking hand up to grasp the base of his penis. There was a haughty look of question in the doctor’s eyes as he looked up from his work, and Will looked equally offended as he explained in a clipped voice, “I’m going to come.”

 

Hannibal let his lips brush over the slick head of Will’s cock as he replied: “As well you should,” as though it were natural and obvious.

 

And it was, for him. He drank in all the pleasures of life with the same ravenousness, eating and drinking and sleeping and fucking with identical relish. If Will came again and again, if he came until he was aching and empty inside and exhausted, then all the better.

 

He drew Will’s cock deep into his throat again, sweeping his palm up over his stomach and chest to feel out the shape of a tightened pink nipple. Hannibal could still feel the fever in him, burning underneath the smoothness of his skin.

 

“Will,” he panted against him, pulling away in short gasps to breathe, “has anyone ever told you — that you have — the most perfect — perfectly thick — perfectly shaped — cock?”

 

“Hannibal…” The idea was ridiculous, but he didn’t think that Hannibal ever said anything he found distasteful. This would extend to baseless compliments. The strength in Hannibal’s politeness came from the fact that he was skillful at speaking around unpleasantness in a way nobody else could. He was as capable at finessing personalities as Will was incapable. Moreover, he also imagined that a life of pleasure, like the one Hannibal had led, afforded the man a comprehensive knowledge of penises.

 

There was something about the synesthesia of touch and sound that finally sent Will over the edge. The guttural tone of Hannibal’s thick accent when he said the word “cock” resonated in some hollow space of Will’s chest and made him hot all over.

 

Hannibal took Will in deep and sudden, humming lowly as the earthy taste of salt and seawater flooded his senses.

 

Will’s hips spasmed a few more times and he was too exhausted now to attempt to still his movements. From the quick upturn of Hannibal’s lips around his softening penis, Will supposed the man enjoyed the plaintive moans that were becoming less constant as his orgasm subsided.

 

Will quickly whipped his glasses off his face. He dragged a palm from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, to finally rest over his mouth. He closed his eyes, but he could not clear Hannibal from his mind’s vision. When he opened them again, he looked at the ceiling instead of Hannibal and smiled.

 

“So,” Will drawled in an orgasm cracked voice, “what’s next on the menu?”


	3. trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last chapter of Rosé. It was a pleasure to write and, we hope, a pleasure to read. Thanks for all of your lovely comments and kudos. It's all encouragement to write more and more material for this pairing - as if the canon weren't encouraging enough on its own. 
> 
> If you liked this short fic, please consider user subscription. We've already started on a long (read: slowburn) case fic. If you enjoy murder!husbands and Will's awakening, you will enjoy what we've got in store for you.
> 
> So, without further ado, the conclusion...
> 
>  
> 
> Recap:
> 
> Will quickly whipped his glasses off his face. He dragged a palm from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, to finally rest over his mouth. He closed his eyes, but he could not clear Hannibal from his mind’s vision. When he opened them again, he looked at the ceiling instead of Hannibal and smiled.
> 
> “So,” Will drawled in an orgasm cracked voice, “what’s next on the menu?”

Hannibal sat back on his knees, running the back of his hand over his lips. Will seemed to have come undone.

 

“You, Will,” he answered fondly, with a light note of teasing, “you are on the menu next.”

 

His eyes glittered as he leaned over him for the little jar, styled like a Grecian urn, awaiting on the night stand. He poured a little of its oil into his palms and then set it aside on the bed frame, near enough for easy use. When he slid his hands over Will’s thigh, they were slick and frictionless. He began to work the muscles with smooth kneading motions, varying the pressure with the heels of his hands. He moved upward, reaching Will’s groin and sliding his fingertips briefly over the still-wet tip of his cock before going on to the opposite thigh.

 

“It’s been hard keeping myself at a reasonable distance,” he confessed, “you’re very alluring.” By then his hands had returned to the top of Will’s thigh, but instead of moving upward moved under, and Hannibal began the gentle work of opening him. His lightless eyes scanned Will’s face, watching for any sign of disgust — pain was acceptable, fear was expected, but disgust wouldn’t do — as he slid warm, slick fingertips over his hole, massaging him with short, easy strokes.

 

As Hannibal continued to tease at penetration without quite carrying it out, Will adjusted his posture again. He balanced himself with his elbows propped beneath his shoulders, and each hand braced against the coordinating side of his ribcage. Although his vision wasn’t terribly impaired, without his glasses, he had a harder time seeing the sharp outlines of Hannibal’s face. It seemed a shame to lose the acuity, but the idea of having sex with them on didn’t appeal to Will either.

 

“Have you ever had anal sex with a woman before?” Will wasn’t sure why it was important to him to know this, but it was something to say. “I haven’t. I’ve heard it can be pleasurable for women too. I mean even if you don’t have…practical experience…you must know in theory.”

 

Will licked his teeth behind closed lips and tightened his sphincter experimentally to see if Hannibal reacted. He narrowed his eyes to compensate for his lack of glasses.

 

Had he any control over the situation Hannibal would’ve thought Will was stalling. But he didn’t, and he wasn’t — not stalling the progression of events, anyway. Perhaps he was stalling some realization or understanding in his own thoughts, Hannibal surmised.

 

He was always hiding from something, sometimes just barely. Perhaps this was another one of those shadows always nipping at his consciousness; perhaps he brought up women because he was afraid of his interest in men, or perhaps he still shied away from something he understood about Hannibal but could not yet know, was not yet ready to know.

 

Hannibal was glad to give him time. He hummed in thought at the question.

 

“I don’t suppose I ever have,” he supplied, using the natural break in his remark to press a fingertip into Will. “I can imagine it must be pleasurable, sometimes, for some women,” he mused, “people are very idiosyncratic in terms of what brings them pleasure. What gives you pleasure, Will?”

 

Will bit back a small, fussy sound that only aired through his nostrils as a muted hum. The feel of Hannibal’s finger inside of him was something he felt forced to concentrate on. It was such a foreign feeling and he couldn’t wrap it in poetry except to acknowledge its strangeness.

 

Hannibal had eased his finger inside with gentle pressure all along as he spoke, and now began to nudge at Will’s entrance with a second. He was searing hot inside, a blazing, liquid heat that Hannibal gauged somewhere around 102 degrees. His cock twitched at the anticipation of sinking into it — into him, into Will. Hannibal licked his lips.

 

“Tell me everything.”

 

With the second finger dancing at his rim, Will internally waffled over whether to ask Hannibal to stop or continue at his own pace. It all seemed rushed, but he doubted Hannibal had any intention of making this painful for him. Torture for the sake of torture would be anathema to Hannibal’s general epicurean ways. It would be ugly when everything in Hannibal’s life was beautiful.

 

“I wonder about what you see in me.” Will grit his teeth in a manner he knew Hannibal would disapprove of, then produced an artificial cough as his physician always instructed during prostate examinations. “I mean, I don’t question your desire because I couldn’t see you engaging in any activity you thought was below you. There would be nothing for you to gain in that. There is a sexual thing you see inside of me. It’s something I don’t even know of myself, isn’t it?”

 

At some point, Will knew he would be robbed of his words through the biological maelstrom of intercourse. Until then, he shared Hannibal’s desire to be told everything. It was the way they had learned to reach out toward one another and touch back.

 

“It may be,” Hannibal provided, peering up at Will from between his legs, deploying that even, curious therapeutic tone. “Maybe it’s something you have recognized but not acknowledged.”

 

As Hannibal raised the possibility he allowed the second finger to press his rim until he breached it, sliding tightly inside, knuckle against knuckle.

 

Will felt Hannibal trace a third finger back along the oil slicked place between his cheeks. It tickled – successfully distracting other muscles from keeping the second finger from reaching its target.

 

“You know that you are sensitive. You are imaginative. You don’t conform readily to typical — if you'll forgive me — to a typical gender role. You are honest and direct, you…enjoy being led, being guided…”

 

Now Will was pliable enough for Hannibal to spread his fingers inside him, opening his virgin entrance little by little. He didn’t rush it; there was no need to rush it. He poured a thin stream of oil over the juncture of his body and Will’s, smoothing the oil inside him in soft, swirling strokes.

 

“You can see, I imagine, how that would be alluring to a man.” He twisted his wrist and lightly pressed the firm little gland inside him, lingering only a moment before moving on.

 

Will’s head dropped back and his elbows slid out from under him. His back arched and his mouth opened in protest. He scoffed more than moaned and saw the shadows of blood cells flash at the edges of his eyes. Sweat broke again across the apples of his cheeks and he wasn’t sure if it was caused by fever, lust, or outrage at having his masculinity called into question.

 

There were a great many things Will had accepted as faulty about himself, but he never questioned his masculinity. Even despite his current situation, he did not find himself any less attracted to women or more attracted to men in general.

 

Yet deeper than that, he wondered if he felt all three things at the same time – fever, lust, and outrage – but not necessarily in that order. “That would be the prostate, I imagine. What I can’t imagine is how you thought I’d respond to being told you find me gender atypical. Maybe it’s the Louisiana in me, but I beg to differ. I thought you would have a more nuanced idea of homosexuality – something more than just a heteronormative analogy.” He raised his head and tilted it to the side a bit to prompt Hannibal for a different response.

 

“I must say,” Hannibal returned lightly, “I don’t think it is the Louisiana in you causing you such discomfort, Will.” He grinned, a wolfish look reserved strictly for closed doors, and lapped the soft tip of Will’s cock between his lips as he began to work a third finger into him.

 

“Now, granted,” Hannibal then offered, figuring it best to placate him for the sting to come, “I wasn’t brought up in the most progressive circumstances myself…” Something animal in him shied viscerally away from revealing too much about his past. It felt like baring himself, like showing Will his throat.

 

But then again, he reasoned, he already had.

 

“Kalvarija, Lithuania…near the Polish border,” and with this, spoken as delicately as an offering, he pressed a third finger in, “…hardly a forward-thinking place…” He couldn’t bring himself to say much more, and instead leaned down to run the tip of his tongue over the juncture of his fingers and Will’s body.

 

As expected, Will strained against the third finger as soon as Hannibal introduced it. He blinked irregularly and held his breath in a kind of modified catatonia while he wondered idly how many parts of Hannibal’s body would enter him before his penis ever had the chance.

 

“Kalvarija,” Will savored the name as something exactly as foreign as Hannibal himself. “I wish I knew more, if only to have something to continue this exchange. I’ll have to research.”

 

The casual admission gave Will the impression that this was something to remember. A first time that, for the first time, felt romantic in a twisted way. He sensed that Hannibal might feel this way too and had said as much before when he told Will he was most fond of him. 

 

Will sniffed as he regathered himself and blinked in rapid succession each time Hannibal’s tongue passed over his skin.

 

“Don’t use your tongue,” Will instructed. “I’d – I feel like I’m being fucked, talking to an empty room without a face to put to the sensations.”

 

Will reached down with a hand he didn’t know was shaking, and gently coaxed Hannibal’s face out from between his thighs.

 

Hannibal let will draw his face up with fingertips so unsteady he faintly thought of a febrile seizure. His eyes found Will’s, glossy and dark with fever, or lust, or something else. For once he didn't mask his admiration, heavy-hooded eyes soft and lips slightly parted.

 

“Some other time then,” Hannibal conceded graciously, cataloging this as one more experience to share with Will when the time came. He kissed his thigh and sighed against his skin, pulling away almost reluctantly with a fond nuzzle.

 

He slicked himself thoroughly with another few handfuls of oil; the sheets would be ruined, and the sheets be damned. Muscles in his shoulders and biceps flexed and shined underneath a thin glaze of sweat as he readied himself for Will, and then laid down over him, shuddering as the head of his cock brushed against Will’s entrance.

 

“This may hurt a little,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of Will’s lips. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

 

It was a clumsy and inelegant command. But it was spoken gently, in a breathy sort of whisper in which Hannibal’s accent seemed even more pronounced than usual. He aligned himself with Will with his free hand, and groaned into the shell of his ear as he pushed inside.

 

The pain at first was more severe than Will had prepared for. Usually he lived by an expect-the-worst philosophy, but this time he had subconsciously suppressed his concerns to keep his nerve.

 

Hannibal moved as slowly as possible, pressing forward with all the measured care of a stalking feline with prey in sight. Will, like prey, did not move at all. His muscles being tested for any sign of weakness so that Hannibal might push deeper. Hannibal flowed like water into his body, and Will felt a chill even though Hannibal’s erection burned hotly against him.

 

When he thought of asking Hannibal to stop and try preparing him more, he felt a slick and gracious palm against his cock. The surgery-sure fingers nimbly manipulated him and Hannibal shushed hypnotically in his ear. Will looked at Hannibal’s face and saw his brow furrowed with a look of melancholy usually reserved for listening to the crescendo of a particularly dramatic opera movement. It was sad and blissful at the same time. Maybe less sad and more longing.

 

Will felt a sob choking in his throat as he called out, “Hannibal…” and fell to less symphonic arias of distressed moaning.

 

Will at last managed to accommodate Hannibal, and he stilled to let Will relax into the sensation of fullness. It wasn't easy; Will was as fearsomely hot inside as he had predicted, and tighter than any lover he could remember.

 

And the emotions -- a tender, aching feeling in his breast -- caught him off his guard.

 

Will. Beautiful Will. Will, his only equal; Will, the only match for him in the vastness of the cold, lonely universe. What fortune, he thought, that fate had brought them together.

 

"You...are...exquisite," he ground out with effort, using all his mental reserves to thrust slowly and gently, working Will's cock in his palm with every movement.

 

He began to pick up speed, and in a few undulations developed a rhythm.

 

"Will," he panted into his ear, kissing his temple and cheek and mouth as he moved inside him. "Hold onto me."

 

Will nodded and the motion brushed the darkened curls that framed his cheeks against Hannibal’s jaw. He tucked his forehead in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. The act felt infantile, and in seeking comfort he felt even more so. However, he wasn’t ashamed. He was comforted.

 

Will’s arousal began to return to him and had him clinging more desperately to the body above his own. He brought his legs up over Hannibal’s hips, let his heels rest loosely twined in the small of the strong back. That lasted for a moment before he reconsidered and let his feet fall back to the bed. His knees remained braced against the slight curve of Hannibal’s waist. Just one moment again and he returned both legs around Hannibal’s lower torso; locked more securely as he began to lean into the rhythm.

 

This was comfortable and he moaned more softly as Hannibal lightly engaged with his prostate. When his jaw cracked, he realized just how much tension he had been holding inside of him. It released and he became vulnerable to the pleasure.

 

Will lifted his face from Hannibal’s shoulder and allowed Hannibal to see the vulnerability in the tear-pinkened edges of his eyelids.

 

“You asked me about satisfaction, didn’t you?” Will recalled. “There are many kinds.”

 

Something usually stood between Hannibal and the world. For a time he had thought it was a mask of his own making, or maybe an aspect of the veneer of civilization Bedelia called his ‘person suit.’ And maybe it once had been. But for some years he had found himself unable to put it aside at will. Even when he wanted to experience the world, to expose himself to it raw and vulnerable, he felt it all as through a veil.

 

But Will had dissolved it. Hannibal felt an acute ache in Will’s absence and at the thought of him; when he would wake in the night having dreamt of him, his impulse was typically to fold a pillow tightly against his chest rather than touch himself. Though he did both at times.

 

Now he was here with Will and he wasn’t sure he would be able to deny anything if the other asked. If he said, point-blank, are you the ripper? He would say yes. If he asked him if he had killed. If he asked him if he had lied.

 

If he asked him if he were in love.

 

It felt dizzying and dangerous, like free fall, and invigorating in that same way. Hannibal kissed Will’s mouth when he offered his face, taken with the fact that even now Will had it in his power to think, and to answer questions. Up until this point answering sincerely had been his way of connecting with Hannibal, as each of them seemed to know he could be honest with the other without risking what he usually did.

 

Now they had this. Hannibal gathered his wits about him and tangled his fingers in damp curls, tipping Will’s head back to deepen his access to his mouth.

 

“Will,” he sighed, a ragged edge to his breath. He kissed along his jaw, his temples, anywhere he could reach. He tried not to say something terribly sentimental. “Are you — satisfied, now — here — with me?” On the next in stroke he angled his hips to drag against Will’s prostate, now primed for him.

 

“Even…” Will sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as Hannibal punctuated his words with deeper thrusts. “Even when I’m trying my hardest, I can never find it within my – myself to be dissatisfied with you.”

 

Hannibal moaned against Will’s jaw as his heat tightened erratically around him, sending jolts of pleasure winding up his spine.

 

“Inside,” he panted, “yes?” Clarifying further would be unseemly. And he couldn’t, anyhow.

 

The answer to this particular question was implied through the candid vocalizations Will made as Hannibal brought him closer to a peak he had mapped through other sexual encounters, but never traversed in quite this manner.

 

It occurred to Will that this physical sensation came the closest to demonstrating the way he felt when Hannibal was inside him in other ways. It mimicked the feeling he had when he first met Hannibal Lecter in Jack’s office. There was pain at first – hurt from being exposed so easily – but a deep-seated, roiling satisfaction of knowing someone was inside of him. He hadn’t thought it was possible.

 

Will wasn’t surprised that his orgasm mounted more quickly than Hannibal’s. He would always be less controlled. Instead of staving it off this time, he hurried to capture Hannibal’s lips with his own. He felt his teeth click against Hannibal’s, but it didn’t stop him from pouring himself more fervently into the kiss as his heartbeat raced and his body used all its remaining energy to push him over the edge.

 

He could only think of satisfaction as he used his hands to draw Hannibal’s body closer by the top of his head and the breadth of his shoulders. Will broke from the kiss and cried out because he knew Hannibal would want to hear it.

 

When Will came again, Hannibal lost track of whether or not he had permission to finish inside of him or not; on some occasions, with some lovers, he pulled out and finished elsewhere, on backs or thighs or bellies, but with Will it would’ve felt dishonest, incomplete.

 

“Will, I’m —,” he set out to warn, but couldn’t confidently summon the word in English. French melded with German and Latin and Lithuanian, and he at last simply moaned, the sound low and wrought as though wrenched from him. It did feel that way; he wanted to hold on, to stay this way a little longer, but —

 

Hannibal’s orgasm pierced him. He felt it in his bones, felt it shatter his thoughts and steal his breath as his body was wracked with shudders and his skin overtaken by gooseflesh.

 

He had the presence of mind to shift his weight to the side when he collapsed, settling on his back next to Will, their legs still tangled. He thoughtlessly kissed his temples, his cheeks; that Will was still feverish registered in the semi-conscious part of his mind, and it was that thought which began to sober him after many long moments.

 

“I should get you something,” he said at last, swallowing thickly, “for your fever.” And for certain other aches which, while perhaps not especially evident yet, would be, he suspected, within the hour. “How do you feel?”

 

Will was no longer inclined to move once he had been spent and his week caught up with him. His eyes followed Hannibal to the door of the shared bathroom between this guest room and the next.

 

He cleared his throat and spoke. “I feel like we just had sex.” It was worth saying out loud because it was not in his nature to let sleeping dogs lie. He blinked curiously and waited for Hannibal’s answering call.

 

*fin*


End file.
